


we'd share each other like an island

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Clothing Kink, Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Mentions of Daisy/Lincoln, POV Phil Coulson, Romance, Safehouses, Sharing Clothes, Skoulson Fluff-athon, Snowed In, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bonding over failed relationships, fuck their exes, mentions of Coulson/Rosalind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in a safehouse for Christmas Coulson has a dramatic reaction to seeing Daisy wear his clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'd share each other like an island

He can't believe something so small provokes it, after _years_ in which the thought never entered his mind. That something so ordinary precipitates something so huge.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't find anything else," Daisy says from under the doorframe, "it's all men's clothes in that closet. Whose are they?"

Coulson thinks she probably knows already and is just asking. Or is she provoking him? He can't believe he's thinking that.

It's his safe house, the one he uses when he's in the city and suspects it's not prudent to go directly to the Playground. The clothes stored here are old but are his.

"Mine," he says, flatly.

"Oh. Okay."

But no, she _didn't_ know and he was misjudging Daisy, thinking she was pretending, the look on her face makes it clear she wasn't and the information comes as a shock (is she embarrassed? does she feel disgust at the idea?). He feels a bit bad about this but mainly he's distracted by seeing _his_ white shirt hanging loose on Daisy's shoulders and the way his old sweatpants look on her too (too big for her, covering her feet, but held up by her hips), the way she shines with her hair wet from the shower and her makeup gone and the effect that's having on him.

"It's fine, they're clean," he says, though he doesn't know why he has to specify.

He wonders why Daisy didn't pick a t-shirt from the cupboard like he did, then he watches as she walks through the room rubbing her arms. She was cold. She just picked the thing that covered her most.

"I might have had to borrow your underwear as well," Daisy adds with a nervous chuckle. "I should have probably kept mine."

That's what clicks it for him, mostly, if he's honest. Daisy wearing his old boxers. _Which_ ones? He wonders. He can't see but he can picture it, the whole thing. He swallows, an unusual wave of desire going through him, a wave of desire he can't quite understand. He hadn't thought about Daisy in that way since very early in their acquaintance, when she was just a gorgeous stranger who liked to flirt with Coulson or rather who flirted _back_ when he did. He might have been dead for a while but he wasn't dead then, of course the idea crossed his mind, she was smart and funny and she looked like that – but as soon as he saw her possibilities as an agent it was easy to stop seeing her in that light. As soon as he started feeling emotionally attached to the young woman seeing her in anything but a platonic light seemed almost _unforgivable_ to him. He had only slipped a couple of times –a weak moment by a hotel pool when his whole world had fallen and she was the one thing he had managed to hold on to; one night when he was carving and everything, even sanity, seemed to be slipping from his grasp– but he had kept to the rules for the most part. 

Until tonight.

Until their clothes got soaked.

Until they got stranded in their city safehouse while the rest of the world celebrated Christmas – except for the part of the world who were hunting them instead.

Daisy's face plastered on all bulletins made stealthy work like they one they had a bit trickier, and Coulson knew they couldn't be sure they weren't being followed tonight, not with the rain and the sleet that followed, and the snow that followed both.

He's trying to excuse the fact that they'll have to stay the night, but Daisy waves him away.

"It's okay, I know anti-alien paranoia spikes on Christmas."

Coulson looks around, trying to ignore how he wants to look anywhere but at Daisy right now.

"I don't think there's anything much to eat here but I can make coffee," he offers.

" _Please_."

He normally just has takeouts whenever he stays out in the city – but the snow makes that option impossible. He hopes at least some warm liquid keeps the cold at bay while the house warms up. Daisy sits down on the kitchen table, watching him work the coffee machine. He manages a couple of cups out of it. Daisy seems grateful for the warmth of the mug under her hands. Coulson, meanwhile, can't stop noticing little things, like her brown nail polish, her cute and powerful hands. 

"I'm sorry, it's bad," he says, commenting on the coffee to focus on anything.

"Yeah, it's bad," Daisy says and hides her laughter behind the mug.

Coulson gets the feeling that he hasn't heard her laugh in a long time. It relaxes him a bit, and it also makes him a bit sad.

He can't stop staring at the collar of her shirt – his shirt, and why should that make a difference, why does that feel as if something had broken loose inside him, _god, what's wrong with him?_ – as the fabric brushes against her neck when she moves.

"I'm sorry you ended up snowed in on Christmas' Eve," he tells Daisy, sincerely.

"It's okay, it's not like I had big plans."

"Still, you should be celebrating, spending it with people whom..." he trails off, clears his throat discreetly. "No plans with Campbell?"

Her expression darknes. Coulson wonders if he's crossed a line asking.

"Yeah Lincoln is not speaking to me right now," Daisy tell him.

He knew the relationship had cooled off significantly in the last couple of weeks – he's the Director, he knows stuff – but he didn't think it was for good, or less than amicable.

"Why?" he asks.

Daisy shrugs, like she expected it.

"The guys I date don't normally want to speak to me afterwards," she says, it sounds a bit defensive, a bit preemptively self-aware. Coulson thinks it's bullshit. Who wouldn't want to speak to Daisy even after a break-up? He didn't know the details, but he couldn't imagine her purposedly hurting someone enough to provoke that. But perhaps he shouldn't be thinking these thoughts tonight. Daisy raises a finger. "Though Miles did send me an encrypted message after the whole Hydra thing to check if I was okay. So there's that."

Coulson drops his gaze. She sounds lonely about it, like it was a one-sided decision, like she would rather still be talking to Mr Lyndon. To Lincoln. It's a stunning concept, that someone like Daisy has to begging for companionship, that's she's used to people turning away from her affections.

"You?" Daisy asks and he almost doesn't catch it, lost in his thoughts.

"Mmm? Me what?"

"Do they talk to you afterwards?"

He snorts softly, but not at her. "Did you notice Rosalind calling even once? There you have it."

She gives him a tiny sympathetic smile. "That's not your fault," she says.

He draws his hands over his face wearily.

"No, I think it was _entirely_ my fault, from beginning to bitter end."

He's not felt particularly self-pitying about this, but something about being stuck here on Christmas wth Daisy, drinking miserable coffee and contemplating terrible new desires. Daisy trying to make him feel better about it doesn't help.

"No one can blame you for being suspicious, she wasn't –"

"She wasn't clean, I know," he tells her. "But it says nothing good about me that I got into it distrusting my lover from the very first moment."

"You are a very trusting guy," she protests. Coulson frowns. No one had ever accused him of that. "And it hasn't gone well for you sometimes. It's not strange that you want to protect yourself after all that's happened to you."

"You think I'm _trusting_?" he asks.

Daisy nods.

"You trust people. You trust that things would work out. For starters you took in a Rising Tide hacker without a second thought," she says. "And she turned out to have ulterior motives."

Coulson keeps staring at the way his white shirt falls over the dark skin of her shoulders.

"That's an example of why I _should_ trust people, not why I shouldn't," he says without thinking.

Her expression breaks into a warm smile, unbearable grateful. It makes Coulson ache with something quieter and deeper than this newfound arousal.

She finishes the crappy cup of coffee while she still stares at him.

"I don't know about you," she says, lifting the mood, changing the subject somehow, "but I think I'm done with that whole people not talking to me afterwards thing. It sucks, so I should probably stay away from romantic stuff."

It's a bit self-parodic, no doubt, but Coulson can tell she means it to some extent. 

"I think it's a bit early in the game to be quitting," he tells her, trying to circumvent the fact that she's like twenty-seven and it's depressing that she should have such a view on relationships. "Or maybe you should find people who would still talk to you afterwards."

"That could be the solution, yes, how did I not think of it before," she says, smiling. "Maybe you should find people less interested in moral ambiguity and mindgames."

"Ah, I knew there was something I was overlooking, too."

They both chuckle together. Misery loves company is not such a bad feeling. The companionable sensation also helps Coulson forget that a few moments ago he had wanted to lean over the kitchen table and kiss Daisy. This is better – they are friends, _pals_ , right? They can talk about their exes comfortably.

"I'm not sad we got snowed in," Daisy says. "I think this is the most intimate conversation we've ever had. I like it."

"Me too."

And he means it. Holidays are not a great time for him, this year maybe even harder. He's glad for the complicated, particular company. 

"But..." Daisy adds, rubbing the top of her shoulders and there it is, like a shiver, the wave of desire again, just when Coulson was beginning to think it had been a mistake, something fleeting. "I'm still cold. Do you have a sweater or something?"

Coulson goes back into the bedroom, happy for a moment to recover. He grabs the first thing he finds in the cupboard, a gym sweater from back when it was okay to put the SHIELD logo on clothing. He realizes Daisy will sleep in his bed tonight and comes back into the living room shaking his hand.

Daisy has got up and is now standing in the middle of the room, casually leaning against the back of the couch. He offers her the clothes.

"This is yours, too?" Coulson nods. "Cute. Is it okay if I wear it? Since I didn't ask before and for the record I'm really, really sorry about borrowing your underwear without thinking and–"

Coulson drops the sweater to the floor.

Suddenly it's all too much. Being locked in here with Daisy while she wears his clothes, talking about their failed relationships, all this time _knowing_ she was wearing his underwear as well. He smashes their mouths together, grabbing her by the waist. He could lie to himself and say it's the mood of the night, being snowed in like a cliche, and his loneliness and Daisy being said and feeling rejected which he can't bear. He could lie to himself... 

She tastes of shower water and crappy coffee and he knows exactly why he can't lie, how long he's been in love with her.

"I'm sorry," he says, pulling back, hands falling from her sides.

"Why are you apologizing for?" Daisy asks, genuinely confused and with her hand suddenly lifted to his head, fingers pushing into his hair, and that's when Coulson _realizes_.

"You wanted this, too," he mutters.

She answers by sliding her mouth against his, pushing her tongue forcefully inside, her fingers scrapping against the crown of his head. He could lie to himself and think she only wants him out of loneliness too, he could...

"Oh, Daisy," he lets out, hopeless, bending down to roll up her shirt and kiss the curve of her ribcage.

"When you told me the clothes were yours," Daisy says against his temple, "I almost lost it."

Coulson draws his teeth across her hipbone, right above the waistband of her sweatpants.

"I thought you knew..." he tells her. "That you did it _on purpose_."

"What?" she says in disbelief. "I wouldn't – I didn't think you'd ever..."

He can't help but grab the waistband and pull down.

"I had to know if you had picked the fitted boxers or the loose ones," he tells her, breathless, as he stares at the smooth fabric of his own underwear cling somewhat tightly to Daisy's smooth legs.

"When you told me..." she says, her voice floating over his head. "When I realized these must be yours too. Well, it became _a problem_ ," Daisy says euphemistically.

Coulson presses his face against her groin, he doesn't remember being this hard before, this desperate for touch. He presses his mouth between her legs, slipping the pants all the way down and off her. The warmth of her, the scent if her, Coulson closes his eyes and whimpers against it.

He comes up for air and for a kiss. 

Daisy grabs the back of the couch while she kisses and lifts her hips so that she's sitting on it, so she can part her legs around Coulson. He doesn't asks if they are going too fast here. He curls the fingers of his left hand around her waist carefully, in case she is put off by his prosthetic, but it doesn't seem to be an issue and after some moments he relaxes and spreads his hand over her hip, holding her while he continues to stroke Daisy through the fabric of his own underwear, teasing her until she bites her bottom lip and looks like she's about to lose control and Coulson just wants to see her face do more of those things and he wants – he wants a lot of different things right now.

"God, Daisy, I want to... I want to..." but he's not brave enough to form the words.

She wraps her fingers around his nape, hot breath on Coulson's neck.

" _Tell me_ ," she says. "Tell what you want."

"I want you to come inside my boxers," he says, shocking himself a little, not because of the content, or even because he even has such a desire in the first place, but because of the ease with which Daisy had pulled the words out of him with one simple order.

Now she's smirking at him, "Wow, Phil, you're full of surprises," she says and Coulson can tell she's impressed.

"What? You thought I was a prude?"

"The guys I date normally are," she tells him.

"Campbell's an idiot," Coulson says, through gritted teeth. And then, because it's true: " _I am_ an idiot. I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and wraps her legs around his waist, trapping him, Coulson only too glad to be trapped by her, flattening his hand for a moment and listening to the sounds she makes at that. He listens to something uncoil inside of her, a pressure, and it makes him wonder if she's thought about him like this before tonight, or if it all had taken her by surprise like it did him.

He pulls back, holding her by the shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

Coulson touches her naked knee – every new spot he touches is like discovering a new continent or some maudlin metaphor like that but for what he's feeling right now he's not above purple prose – and parts her legs until he can get his body between them, pressing his hard-on against her body.

"Oh fuck that's – good, yes, _good_ idea," Daisy tells him, immediately rolling her hips hard against his cock.

And she probably has no idea what those words do to him, but hearing her say he feels good to her his mouth goes dry and the tips of his fingers burn with ache.

He keeps grinding his obvious erection against her and something about the friction through the multiple layers of clothes makes Daisy come almost immediately. Coulson holds her tight through it, letting her mutter obscenities (he _loves_ this new side of Daisy, this freedom she seems to suddenly indulge in and it's absurd that he's the one here to trigger it but he's not going to reject the privilege) with her wet mouth pressed against Coulson's jaw.

"Okay?" he asks, bearing her whole weight on his hands for a moment as she struggles to regain her balance on the back of the couch.

"I think I'm going to have to borrow more underwear from you," she says and then makes a funny grimace at her own directness.

Coulson kisses her, feeling her body still trembling into his arms, "Let's get you out of this first," he says, and pulls the ruined piece of clothing off her.

"Please," Daisy agrees in a raspy, needy voice, dropping her hands to Coulson's belt. He loses no time in complying to her request, rubbing the tip of his cock against her and then burying himself into her so fucking fast that he can still feel her clench from the aftershocks of her orgasm. He slides out of her easily, almost his whole length before he realizes until her groans of protest bring him back. It's too easy and too fast and Coulson sighs because he would want more time but he touches her back and presses kisses against her neck and he knows he'll soon be a goner.

Daisy moves her hand between their bodies for a couple of seconds and he – Coulson doesn't know how to classify what happens next. It's like feeling someone blowing cold air over the skin of his belly as he thrusts into Daisy.

"What did you just...?" he asks, amazed.

 _Her powers_ , he realizes, wishing he had paid more attention to how it felt.

"I'm sorry," she says, glancing away for a second. "Did you hate it? It's just that – it feels good when I–"

He kisses whatever she's going to say next, grateful. She melts into it until Coulson can feel the smile playing against his mouth.

"You're incredible," he still tells her when he pulls back. "Do it again. Please."

She does, and it's so amazing to feel her powers on his skin while he is inside her, it's like he is feeling _all_ of Daisy, all that she is, and it sends them both over the edge easily.

 

+

 

"It guess it's official Christmas," he says, looking at the clock on the bedside table, some minutes past midnight. "Sorry I don't have a present."

Daisy rolls her eyes at him and rolls her body further across the bed to snuggle up. There's no way she's not sore after what they've done but ah, well, the exuberance of youth. Coulson will have to catch up. He starts by kissing her neck as she cuddles him, kissing the curve of her jaw, her mouth. She purrs comfortably, shamelessly. So much for a woman who hours before declared she was through with romance. Coulson can't deny he's happy she changed her mind.

"God it's so cold," she protests, sitting up and rubbing her feet. He touches them, they're frozen.

Coulson gets up, roams the room under Daisy's curious gaze, and searches the lower drawers inside his closet.

"Here," Coulson says, sitting by her side on the bed and taking her feet in his hands.

"Yours, too, I guess?" she asks as he starts rolling the first hiking sock up her ankle. He nods. "I like that. I'm never going to wear anything else. Just your old clothes."

"Fine by me," Coulson tries to sound casual, the idea of Daisy wearing his clothes still arousing even after all the sex they've had tonight, the idea that she feels comfortable wearing them and wants to feel like this again almost too domestic for his heart to bear. "But it might cause some gossip back at the base."

For a moment he likes the visuals of it, Mack and May staring in judgemental disbelief as Daisy walks around wearing his shirts.

"Who cares? We should go meet our exes dressed in each other's clothes to mess with them," she proposes.

Coulson laughs. "I didn't know you were this vindictive." Daisy raises an eyebrow. _Fuck their exes_. They are never going to wish them ill, not really. Coulson now realizes, while he holds Daisy on his lap, that him and Daisy are good people who deserve good things. They are probably too tender to really resent past lovers, even unkind ones, but it's fun to pretend, it's fun to say, at the height of happiness, _fuck them_. "I don't think I could fit into your superhero suit, though," he adds.

"Halloween next year," Daisy says, as they lie down on the bed again, her feet brushing against Coulson's leg, warming both up. "You go as me and I'll dressed as the prude-ish Director of SHIELD, tailored suit and all."

"Okay. You have a date in ten months," he agrees.

It feels weirdly optimistic but as he kisses Daisy again, slowly and deep and with all the freedom and time in the world, one thing becomes quite clear to him.

"I would speak to you," Coulson says.

Daisy narrows her eyes. "What?"

"Even if this doesn't work out," he explains, running a loving hand up her waist and under her –his, _his_ – t-shirt. "I would _always_ want to talk to you afterwards. No matter what."

She gives him an warm and genuine smile.

"Thank you, that means a lot, actually," she says, stroking the side of his face. "But it's okay. This will work."

"You're very trusting," Coulson teases him.

"I am," she agrees. "Just like the guy I love."


End file.
